The Cairo Code Read Online Free Page A

we get out of here?”
    â€œI’ve a taxi waiting outside. I can give you a lift.”
    â€œOn an evening like this, I won’t say no. By the way, I’m staying at the new Shepheard’s. It’s nothing quite like the old hotel it replaced, but at least it serves pretty decent American Scotch.”
    â€œNow you’re talking.”
    Weaver pulled up the collar of his trench coat, stepped out on to the landing, and went down the stairs. I took one last look around the shabby apartment, closed the door, and followed him.
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    The drive to Shepheard’s was something of a trial. For some reason, Weaver hardly spoke, just stared out of the cab window, lost in a world of his own. I had a terrible feeling he might have been reconsidering his offer to tell me his story, but when we reached the hotel, he shook sand from his trench coat and said as we entered the lobby, “I’ll meet you in the bar in ten minutes. Mine’s a very large Dewar’s. Straight.”
    He stepped into the elevator and I went into the restaurant bar. The old Shepheard’s Hotel had what the guidebooks like to call atmosphere. It had a certain faded glory that suggested belle époque, all dark wood and soaring marble columns, rich carpets and antique furniture. It used to be one of the old grand hotels, built to accommodate wealthy Europeans. The modern Shepheard’s is a pale imitation by comparison, though it still attracts the tourists. But there were none in the bar that night, just a couple of foreign businessmen chatting over drinks. I took a seat near a window and ordered two large Dewar’s, then changed my mind and told the waiter to bring the bottle.
    Weaver came down ten minutes later. He had changed into a sweater and cotton pants and he seemed more at ease as he looked around the bar. “Damn it, but this looks nothing like the old place.”
    â€œDoes Shepheard’s bring back memories, Colonel?”
    â€œFar too many, I’m afraid,” Weaver replied almost wistfully. “And enough of this Colonel business. I’ve been retired for well over twenty years.” He studied the room. “Did you know that Greta Garbo used to stay at the original hotel? Not to mention Lawrence of Arabia, Winston Churchill, and half the Gestapo spies in wartime Cairo.”
    I refilled our glasses and set the bottle between us. “I read somewhere once that Rommel telephoned the front desk to make a reservation after the fall of Tobruk, believing he’d be in Cairo within a week. If memory serves me, the old Shepheard’s was burned down during the riots for independence in ’52. Apparently, most Egyptians saw it as an irritating symbol of British imperialism.”
    â€œIt seems you know your history, Carney.”
    â€œWhich is why something bothers me. If everything I’ve learned about Johann Halder is true, and if he was still alive after all that time, why would he choose to disappear into hiding and remain such a mystery?”
    â€œI believe there could have been several reasons. One of them being the fact that the United States had good enough evidence to condemn him as a traitor. Probably could even have hanged him.”
    I frowned. “Whatever for? Halder was a German citizen, surely. How could he have been a traitor?”
    â€œHe was certainly a German citizen, but he was American-born. His real name was Johann, though he was better known as Jack. And his disappearance had to do with the mission you spoke about, the one he was supposed to have died on. Probably the most daring the Nazis ever came up with. And it happened right here in Egypt.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œHalder led a covert team to assassinate President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill in Cairo, on Adolf Hitler’s direct orders.”
    I was stunned. “Now you really do surprise me. An American-born assassin